Monsters Like Us
by CreepingBoNE
Summary: A collection of drabbles for the 100 theme challenge. Ravus/Valerie
1. Introduction

**~1. Introduction~**

_**Noun**_

**1. The bringing of a product, measure, concept, etc., into use or operation for the first time.**

**2. The action of bringing a new plant, animal, or disease to a place.**

Their introduction is rushed, brutal. A clash of minds and talons.

She, a dirty street girl, far from home. He, a monster that exists on the edge of the city, wavering in and out of reality.

She's bruised and thin; filling his home with the smell of stale cigarettes and animal urine. The child, because she's really nothing more; waves a sword that appears to be crafted from ice and has the _gall_ to order him to release her companion, the one whose sticky fingers he'd caught all over his potions. He notices the defeated guardian, something any bumbling idiot of a Faerie could bypass, though no small feat for a human. He comments on it, testing the waters. Seeing if she's as arrogant as she seems to be playing at.

She's not.

Again, she commands him to free the thief. She's still leveling the sword at him, though clearly untrained. He reminds her that it does, infact, belong to him. She goes to place it down. Hesitates. His reprisal comes swiftly in the form of a broken finger, administered to the human in his grasp. The red-head quickly relinquishes the weapon, though a snarl of frustration twists her face.

Interesting.

She tries to placate him; eyes darting between the captive and himself. Distressed. Most street kids aren't the loyal type; more likely to turn tail and run. An 'Every man for himself' mindset drilled into them from years in the city.

He's thoroughly intrigued now. He strikes a bargain with her; can tell by her eyes even as she agrees that she's not going to come back willingly. He instructs her to retrieve the jar marked 'Straw'. She searches through the indicated shelf for a few moments before producing the desired extract. He notes that she's literate. The human stands steadfast as he rubs the solution over her chapped lips, reciting their pact.

She's his now. To study and prod for a month, in whatever way he chooses.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Yeah, so this' my first time posting anything I've ever written; try not to rip my lungs out through my arse, I need the latter for shittin'.

Gimmie a yell, tell me what ya liked, what ya didn't. If it was too simple, not simple enough or if I'm just a goddamned horrible writer.

The main reason I posted this [and hopefully future stories] is because I haven't been able to find a single decently written piece that directly involves these two. I'm gonna pull one'a these out my arse everytime I finish a piece for my portfolio, to tide me over.

Pft. Yeah, nah, wish me luck.


	2. Rape

**~2. Rape~**

_**Noun**_

**1. An act of plunder, violent seizure, or abuse; despoliation; violation: the rape of the countryside.**

**2. Archaic. the act of seizing and carrying off by force.**

He can't help feeling that everytime he touches her, he's raping her soul.

Chipping away at her humanity and what little innocence she has left.  
Something like him shouldn't be able to exist in close proximity to something like her. A gnarled weed next to a young vine; strong and tall, reaching for the sky.

Once, he tries to tell her. She doesn't understand. She's been raised with the belief that rape is a physical, brutal, sexual action. Something done to the body.

Rape is a wound to the spirit; something that affects so deeply, sometimes you're not even aware of it until it's too late. Until you're bleeding your soul onto the ground and fading away.

He doesn't want her to fade. She's vibrant and passionate and far, far too naïve. He taints her. She doesn't understand; can't see the dark stain spreading throughout her with every omission, every new experience. None of them good.

Then one day she surprises him, and he thinks maybe he's the naïve one. Because she points out that the definition of rape is a non-consensual act. She tells him that maybe she doesn't mind being touched by him. Doesn't mind sharing her soul.

He should feel aggravated, that she willingly bares herself to a monster. But all he can feel is gratitude; that at least someone wants him. Accepts him; and if it has to be anyone, he wants it to be her.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan' 'nother one.

Between my work and personal art I'm trying to get these out as fast as possible. [Between you, me an' the black stump I'm also working on a larger one-shot with these two that may or may not involve sexytimes.]


	3. 4:29 AM

**~4:29 AM~**

4:30 is generally the time that they start getting ready for bed; in Summer the sun rises at 5:00, it's watery rays struggling to break through the thick smog of New York.

The nightlife of the city is where they spend their time; darkness favours the creatures that make up the majority of their clientele.

Valerie doesn't mind; it's preferable infact. The city's too loud and crowed during the day, and the interesting things come out after dark.

That's her excuse to his bewildered inquiry, as they're undressing.

Ravus just shakes his head. 'Why would you want to go looking for the monsters?'

She raps the back of her knuckle on his downy chest, once, twice. 'It helps that my partner is someone the monsters fear. Makes me less likely to become lunch.'

'They hardly fear me.'

'Respect, then.'

Six fingered hand grasps a smaller, lighter one. The pressure bordering on pain. 'Anything that thinks of you as lunch is too much monster for me to handle.' A warning. A plea.

'Don't worry, I'll just swing a rusty pipe at it.' That earns a chuckle, an easing of tension, and softening eyes.

'True. You are more knight than most monsters can handle. But one day you will face a dragon.'

'Then I'll slay it.' The retort is impulsive, instinctive and so like the human he has come to love.

'And when I do, I expect my alchemist to be waiting in his tower for me.'

The smaller hand's second comes up to cup dark skin, rough with unshaven bristle, thumb tracing a jutting lower canine.

'That I will be. Always.'

Her other half leans his face into her hand, savouring the feel of delicate, calloused fingers thrumming against his jaw.

He plants a kiss against the rough palm.

A vow.

Outside, the sunrise leaks it's way across a dirty horizon.


End file.
